


Cat's Eyes

by ButterflyGhost



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-28
Updated: 2012-03-28
Packaged: 2017-11-02 15:27:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't know if this will fit in with the continuity of the zombieverse when the fifth day finally dawns and new things keep happening... but when I saw that Audrey had survived, with some differences, I started to think. And this is something I thought might work. If not, just ignore it as a diversion down an entertaining cul de sac.</p></blockquote>





	Cat's Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kalijean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalijean/gifts), [SLWalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The due South Zombie Radioplay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/142177) by [kalijean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalijean/pseuds/kalijean), [SLWalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker). 



He's always been able to see in the dark, better than most people, but this is different. When he first opened his eyes he thought the lights were on, but that he was tired, his eyes dazzled out perhaps, a bit like snow blindness, or that scalding wash you get after a flash bulb has gone off in your face. But then he sees that there is no light source, and the door is shut.

He's seeing in the dark.

It's not that the world has gone black and white, exactly, there are colours in there... but the world in the darkness has gone stark, sharp edged, simple and clean. He realises in the clarity of that perfect darkness that he could read in it. 

This must be some new kind of hallucination. He wonders if the fever is going to come back, wonders how much more of this he can take. It would have been easier, he thinks, if they had just tipped him over the side. He feels spongy, soft and powerless, his muscles are so weak. 

And thirsty, oh God, he's so thirsty still... And in hell he lifts up his eyes, being in torments, and begs for one drop of water to cool his tongue, for he is tormented in this flame.

He moans, and shakes himself free from 'that' hallucination, and wishes for the snow, wishes for Victoria, even though he knows that she's not real, even though he knows the terrible beauty and distance, the gap between the worlds is as lonely and Hellish as any place he's ever been.

His wrists ache. They are swollen, puffed up and plump around his bonds. He concentrates on that, because it takes his mind away from thirst. All around them there is water, but it's Lake Michigan water... full of toxins, full of pesticides... who knows what else is in it? He won't complain of thirst, because they've already wasted too many resources on him, water, time, care. He's a bag with a hole in it, no matter what they put in, they'll never fill him up. It's not like it's anybody's fault. But the other three on this boat... they have a chance of survival. He still doesn't know what he has.

He blinks, looks round the darkened room, noting the knife sharp edge to everything, fascinated despite himself. It's like wearing night goggles. Perhaps it is the memory of that which has triggered this particular hallucination.

The door to the cabin opens, and he cries out as the light slams him, turns his head flinching. There's a gasp, and Francesca is standing in the doorway. His eyes are adjusting to the sudden flood of brightness, and tears are stinging his face. He wishes he could wipe them, but his hands are bound, and he'll have to let her think that he's been crying. Again.

Her silhouette comes into focus, detail bleeds back in, and his eyes are back to normal. She's looking at him with a wary expression on her face. Moves into the room, the small room, and tries to keep as much distance between them as possible. Not much, under the circumstances.

“Fraser?” She is mistrustful, and reminds him, more than anything, of a spooked horse. He wishes he had it in him to gentle her, to make her feel safe. But she looks at him, and the last thing he makes her feel is safe.

Who could possibly blame her?

“Francesca,” he replies, trying not to look at the bottle clutched in her doubled fist. His thirst kicks in harder then ever, and he's so dry he can't even lick his lips.

“Your eyes,” she says, “I thought something had happened to your eyes.”

He pauses. What can he say to that? 

“Just for a moment, you know? Like when you see a cat on the highway. A reflection.”

He swallows, dryly, powdered glass in his throat, and looks at her.

“They're blue now though,” she says, “I must be hallucinating, jumping at shadows.” She tries to smile, and it hurts him to see her try.

“They sting,” he says, of his eyes. He can't think of anything else to say.

“Sorry I...” she looks away for a moment. “Sorry about earlier, when I came to...”

“To what?”

“To shoot you.”

Oh, he thinks, that wasn't a dream then. “Don't worry about it,” he says, “I quite understand.”

“This is fucked up,” she says, “you should be mad at me, how come you're not mad?”

“If you hadn't chained me to the bunk, I'd have thrown myself overboard already.”

“You know you could be getting better. We heard from other survivors. Some people have been ill, and got better.”

He nods, closes his eyes.

Eyes hurt, wrists hurt... thirsty.

“Here,” she says, “I came in here to give you this...”

He opens his eyes, and she's kneeling in front of him, tight with fright, but proferring the bottle, lid off. He starts to say, “save your water,” but she shakes her head, and tilts it at his face, knocking it right up against his teeth. His heart floods with admiration for her courage. She kneels there, terrified of his teeth, his tongue, his jaw, but still holding the bottle to his mouth. Before he knows it he's swallowing, and now he really is crying, because it's the single best thing he's ever tasted.

“There,” she says, her voice shaky, “all done. Do you need some rest now?”

“Yes, thank you kindly.”

“Do you want the light on?”

“No, no... switch it off please, it's hurting my eyes.”

“Okay,” she stands at the door, looks over her shoulder and smiles at him. “Rest up. I think you're getting better.” He can tell from her face that she doesn't think it, she just hopes. 

He smiles all the same. “Thank you.”

She steps out and shuts the door, sealing in the darkness.

And he blinks against the jet black, blinks, and sees everything.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if this will fit in with the continuity of the zombieverse when the fifth day finally dawns and new things keep happening... but when I saw that Audrey had survived, with some differences, I started to think. And this is something I thought might work. If not, just ignore it as a diversion down an entertaining cul de sac.


End file.
